


Making it Up

by PawPunk



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: (well shameless for me. not for tango :), Aftercare, Age Play, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Casual Sex, Cooking, Dom/sub Undertones, Drawing, Dress Up, Emotional Vulnerability, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Hair Washing, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Light Angst, Masturbation, Men Crying, Mommy Issues, Mommy Kink, Panic Attacks, Porn With Plot, Reading Aloud, Shameless Smut, Smut, but mommy, caregiver/ little, its like daddy kink, its the opposite of RSD, mentions of trauma, recognition sensitive euphoria, so much fucking plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PawPunk/pseuds/PawPunk
Summary: Tango has an IOU from Stressmonster, and a very specific fantasy. The only thing he needs now is the courage to ask her.
Relationships: stressmonster101/ tango tek
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	Making it Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChaiSocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaiSocks/gifts).



> Trigger warnings: 
> 
> \- This is a fic about CGL (caregiver/little kink). Basically, Tango age regresses during sex. Don't like, don't read.  
>  \- That being said, this isn't a very smutty fic. There are references to arousal, and some sex, but mostly it's fluff. Between sexual and non-sexual kink.  
> \- Tango is ashamed about his kinks at first, and thinks bad things about kink.  
> \- There are some references to Tango having a bad childhood.  
> \- Tango has a brief panic attack, but Stress helps him through it.  
> \- One mention of drugs  
> \- One mention of (hypothetical) animal death

The jungle was never cold, but Tango still shivered as a damp fog rolled in. The moonlight barely penetrated the thick jungle canopy, and spiders hissed from deep in the thicket. Even with the perils of navigating the rainforest where, in Tango’s opinion, far too many hermits made their homes, he was most nervous about what would happen once he got out.

Finally, Tango found the base he was looking for. A giant, overgrown skull loomed out of the undergrowth, the mouth glowing faintly purple. The empty eye sockets seemed to stare judgingly at Tango as he approached the gaping entrance to Stress’s base. There was no obvious place to knock.

Maybe it would be easier to give up, Tango thought. He really shouldn’t be bothering Stress this late at night, especially to ask her to help with his stupid problems, but if he didn’t ask Stress for help, who could he ask? At least she probably wouldn’t make fun of him. Tango took a deep breath, and before he could chicken out, he knocked on the wall of her base.

The sound echoed hollowly, the few parrots that survived Grian’s rampage mimicking the sound. For a moment, Tango thought Stress hadn’t heard him, and swiftly turned around to go sulk at home like he usually did. But as he turned around, a light flicked on in one of the skull’s eyes, and the window set inside slid open. 

“‘Ello?” Stress called out, looking out across the night sky.

“Hey,” Tango called from below, his voice cracking. He took a moment to curse himself mentally before saying “Could you come down? I need to talk to you real quick.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stress yawned. She stretched, then departed from the window. Tango shut his eyes, trying to resist the urge to run away. Again. His hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out the little note inside. He crushed it in one sweaty hand, fidgeting with the paper until it grew soft.

Finally, Stress stepped outside. Tango had clearly woken her up- her hair was pushed back, not styled in its usual fringe, and she was dressed in fuzzy magenta pajamas. “Sorry,” Tango muttered, lowering his head. “I shouldn’t have-“

Stress waved him off. “I wasn’t even in bed yet, calm down!” She giggled a little, the sound managing to calm Tango just a little. “What d’ya need?”

“So, remember how early in the season I let you use my concrete maker? And even though I said you didn’t have to pay, you insisted on giving me an IOU?” Tango unfolded the note in his hand for proof, showing it to Stress.

“Yeah, that looks like my handwriting,” Stress said. 

“I want to cash it in,” Tango said. “Not right now, obviously. ‘Cause it’s the middle of the night. And if you don’t want to do what I’m asking, that’s totally okay, I’ll keep the note, or even destroy it, I don’t really need an IOU anyway-“

“Tango,” Stress said sharply, cutting him off. Then, much more gently, she asked, “What do you need, luv?”

Tango took a deep breath. “DoyouthinkyoucouldtakecareofmewhileIpretendtobealittleboyplease?” he said.

“Wot?” Stress asked, and Tango’s heart sank. Of course she thought it was a terrible idea, no normal person would want to take care of a grown-ass adult pretending to be a kid. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it,” he choked out, throwing the IOU aside. It landed in a mud puddle. “Just forget about-“

“No, I didn’t hear you,” Stress clarified. “Could’ja repeat that please?”

“No, really, it’s stupid,” Tango said, eyes darting around like a trapped hare’s. “I’ll just-“

“Tango.” The man stopped dead at Stress’s uncharacteristically demanding voice. “It’s fine if you changed your mind, but I at least want to hear what you said. I guarantee you, nothing you could ask is stupid, and a debt is a debt. So tell me.” She crossed her arms and stared Tango down, and fuck, he couldn’t not do what she said when she looked at him like that.

“Um,” Tango said, momentarily forgetting what words were as Stress raised one eyebrow. “So, basically- If I were to-“

“Spit it out,” Stress ordered, and it definitely wasn’t really, really hot. 

Tango screwed his eyes shut. “To cash in my IOU, I wanted to ask you to, um, take care of me while I pretend to be little. For, like, an afternoon. Or less. You don’t have to.” He cringed, opening one eye to gage Stress’s reaction.

“Okay,” Stress shrugged. “Sounds good.”

“What?” Tango squeaked. He had, of course, hoped that Stress wouldn’t spit his request back in his face, but he didn’t expect her to actually say YES. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Stress said. “I’d need more details, of course, but that sounds fun! Certainly not as bad as other ways you could use your IOU.” Tango’s jaw dropped. Fun? Stress thought it sounded fun? People weren’t supposed to like this. They were supposed to hate him.

“Right,” Tango squeaked. “Um, I can send you my ideas by text, if you want. I really should have done that in the first place, huh?”

“Maybe,” Stress said. “But fank you for coming over. I’m going to go to bed now, okay?”

“Okay,” Tango said. He stood there silently for a few seconds, then turned and sprinted back into the jungle from whence he came. 

Somehow, despite his nerves, Tango managed to fall asleep that night. He woke up to a message from Stress. Shit. He’d hoped she would have forgotten by now. Grimacing, he rubbed his tired eyes and opened the message.

Stressy —>You

Stressy: I don’t have much 2 do 2day, if you want me to come over

Stressy: Just tell me what I gotta bring

Stressy: Tango?

You: I’m up

You: Yeah um today is fine

You: Let me write out a list for you.

Fuck, he was being bold today. Of course, the moment he told Stress he’d send her a list, he forgot everything he ever wanted out of a scene. While his mind stalled, his communicator dinged.

Stressy: Quick question

Stressy: Because I wasn’t exactly sure when you brought it up

Stressy: is this a sex thing or not?

You: Kind of

Stressy: ???

Fuck. How did Tango even BEGIN to explain this.

You: I’m not using my IOU to have sex with you

You: But it’s also not NOT a sex thing

You: Are you still okay if it’s a sex thing?

Stressy: Have you been on this server Tango (yes it’s fine)

Tango knew he should have been relieved at that, but his stomach still twisted in knots. He knew the hermits weren’t strangers to casual sex, but Tango’s fantasies didn’t feel very casual at all. He wondered if Stress would have reservations instead if he said it was nonsexual. 

She agreed to this, Tango reminded himself. He took a deep breath and typed.

You: Okay good

You: So could I tell you a bit about what I’d like you to do?

Stressy: Shoot

You: Like I said before, I’d like you to take care of me. Mostly just sorta be there while I do my thing, but maybe read to me, make me some food, give me a bath if you’re feeling up to it? Like I said though just being there would be excellent

Tango put down his communicator, rubbing his shaking hands together. He had typed and deleted that last block of text way too many times, and now he had to just sit and wait. Stress must have been reading it now. And… she was still reading it. Tango waited for the little typing bubbles to appear, but they didn’t. Was she trying to figure out how to tell him to fuck off? Was the whole “giving him a bath” thing too much? Tango started to type an apology-

Stressy: Sorry I walked away from my comm lol

Stressy: Sounds good! Do you have your own books or should I bring some

Oh.

You: I don’t have picture books anymore. Do u?

Stressy: Ya I have some dw

You: Oh and uh

You: One last thing

Tango took a deep breath. He hunched over his communicator as he typed, as if afraid an invisible person might look over his shoulder at his secret.

Stressy: ?

You: Is it ok if I call you mommy during the scene

Stressy: Aww yeah sure!

You: If not it's totally ok

Stressy: Tango you gotta stop sayin that

Stressy: I promise it's ok

You: Okay

You: I’m sorry

Stressy: I’ll come over at noon then?

Stressy: You have nothing to be sorry about :)

You: That sounds good thanks

Before he could dig himself into a deeper hole, Tango closed the chat and put away his communicator. He felt like he had been carrying a bag of sand for miles, and he didn’t even know if the conversation had taken the burden away. He needed a nap, and he’d just woken up.

Sighing, Tango looked around his bedroom (which doubled as a storage room). With the four openings to the sky, hard concrete and quartz walls, and complete lack of anything besides the necessities, it wasn’t the most homey place. A far better location for the scene, he realized, was the little house he’d made as a starter base. Grabbing the materials he needed from his storage system, Tango flew down to the cottage and got to work. 

By noon, Tango had gutted his old storage system out of the starter base and added a kitchen, bathroom, and some rudimentary furniture. It was hardly Bdubs-level interior design, but it would function. The sparse living room almost reminded him of his childhood home, only cleaner. That wouldn’t do. He filled the empty space in the middle with a colorful rug and placed down a block for a table next to the couch. 

Finally, an hour before Stress was supposed to arrive, Tango returned to his real base. He broke open the wall with his pick. The flat concrete looked no different from any other part of his base, but Tango knew this spot too well. A barrel was positioned just inside, and he drew out his crayon box, sketchbook, and Mr. Whapps. The drawing tools and stuffed iron golem alike were kind of dusty- Tango had been trying to pretend they weren’t there, but just holding them made him feel comforted. He wrapped Mr. Whapp’s long, fuzzy arms around his neck, the magnets in his hands clicking together and keeping him there. 

Tango finally carried his supplies down to the starter house. He set the crayons and sketchpad on the table, keeping Mr. Wapps around his neck. Thanks to Tango’s reservations, he was almost brand new, and still very soft. Tango rubbed his face on the golem’s belly. He would protect Tango.

The calm that washed over Tango almost fled from his body when a knock sounded on the door. “Tango?” Stress called from outside. “Are you in here?”

“Yup,” Tango called. He tentatively walked over to the door, opening it slowly like there was a threat on the outside. Instead of a menacing stranger, though, he simply found Stress, carrying a large bag in both her hands. 

“‘Ello!” she said, as cheerily as ever. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, um sure.” Tango stepped aside, remembering his manners too late and offering to take her bag.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Stress said, patting his head. “Don’t worry about me, baby.” Tango nearly choked at the pet name, a blush rising on his face. Stress walked into the one room cabin, setting down her bag and unpacking it while Tango stood stuck to the floor in front of the door. Eventually, he gathered enough wits to close the door, turning to face Stress.

“I like your little friend,” Stress said. 

“Thank you,” Tango said, blushing again. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He never got this flustered from just a complement. His hands squished into Mr. Wapps’ body. “His name is Mr. Wapps.”

“It’s nice to meet him. May I shake his hand?” Stress asked, walking over.

“Sure,” said Tango. It occurred to him how weird this whole situation was as he unclasped Mr. Wapps’ hands and held one out to Stress. She, a grown woman, took the fuzzy paw from him, a grown man, and shook it very formally.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said. Tango couldn’t help but grin. “Oh- before we start- for real- I have a question.”

That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, Tango reminded himself. “Shoot.”

“You said you were going to pretend to be young, right?” Stress asked. “How young?”

“Uh, like, six? Seven? Eight?” Tango said, almost as if he was guessing. He stopped himself before saying that it depended on his emotional state. It wasn’t relevant.

“Okay, so not, like, a baby.”

“Right,” Tango said with a sharp nod.

“Alright,” Stress said brightly. “So, I had an idea- and feel free to tell me if you don’t like it.” Stress turned around, setting her bag down next to the shoddily constructed sofa.

“I thought that was my line,” Tango joked, but he quickly stopped when Stress frowned.

“I would hope both of us would be comfortable to speak up,” Stress said, and Tango cringed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tango muttered. “I’m sorry. Your idea?”

Stress gently grabbed Tango’s arm and pulled him over to the sofa. He sunk down into the cushions, watching as she pulled some folded white fabric from her bag. “So, I don’t know if you were imagining this, but I figured if you were going to be little you might as well dress the part.” She picked up half the fabric, and it unfolded, revealing that it was in fact the top of a sailor suit. Tango took it, inspecting the thick fabric, the little kerchief sewed into the collar, the cute blue stripes. 

“It’s very small,” he noticed. He doubted it would cover his midriff.

“Well, of course. It’s not meant for a grown up.” Stress unfolded the bottoms as well, which also looked far too small. Tango wouldn’t be able to hide anything in the navy blue short shorts. “Do you think you want to try them on?”

“I…” The clothes were so… young looking. The type of clothes Tango avoided like the plague usually. He would have never even considered wearing something so cutesy if Stress hadn’t suggested it. She looked at him with hopeful brown eyes. “Yeah.” Tango’s hand moved to the zipper of his vest, starting to pull it down. “I want to wear it. Thank you.”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Stress reached out, grabbing Tango’s hand. He moved it away from his vest, cocking his head. 

“What-“ he started.

“You don’t have to dress yourself, silly,” Stress giggled. “You’re too little for that. Let me help, okay?” She placed her hand on Tango’s chest, and a weird tingle spread through him, out from her fingertips.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Tango choked out. Stress dragged the zipper down, her other hand gently pushing the heavy fabric off his shoulder. Without the familiar weight, Tango felt colder, more exposed. Or maybe that was just Stress brushing her hands down his arms as she pulled the vest off entirely. 

She folded it neatly, putting it on the table next to her. “Trousers next, okay?” 

“Okay,” Tango muttered. He tried not to wiggle too much as Stress fumbled with the button of his pants, popping the button open and drawing the zipper down. 

“I need you to stand now, Sweetie” she said gently, and Tango found himself standing instinctually, letting her pull his pants down too. He stepped out of them, watching her fold them, his worries from before almost gone.

Tango snapped out of his calm daze, though, when Stress’s eyes focused between his legs. “Oh, I just remembered!” she said. “I brought you some nice pants too, to go with the suit. Do you want those too?”

“Uh,” Tango said. He pressed his legs together, unsure if he was merely embarrassed or genuinely uncomfortable to have Stress looking at him like that.

“You don’t have to,” Stress reminded him gently. “You’ll look just fine with your big boy pants.”

“No, wait, I want the matching ones,” Tango protested. There was no way he was going to go to all this trouble just to still feel grown up when he was done. He hooked his thumbs under the band of his dark grey boxers, but Stress put her hands on his again and pulled them down for him. Tango tried not to buck his hips forward.

“There we go- now let me find your new ones…” Stress placed his boxers on top of the other discarded clothes and rustled around in her bag. Tango tugged his shirt down over his naked thighs. He sincerely regretted not adding curtains to the windows- anyone walking by could just see his ass. Good thing nobody came by this way.

Finally, Stress found what she was looking for. “Step,” she said, holding up a pair of white briefs- he could almost call them panties- with a light blue wave design. Tango stepped into the underpants and Stress pulled them up, lightly patting him on the bottom. His face burned, but it was definitely a nice burn this time.

“Very good. Thank you, angel,” Stress cooed, and Tango found himself slipping back into that relaxed state from earlier. Stress gently tugged off his shirt, then held up the sailor suit’s bottoms. “Step,” she said again, and Tango stepped into them. She pulled them up, buttoning them snugly over his belly. 

“Alright, now the top,” she said softly. “Arms up!” He did, and Stress slipped the sleeves over Tango’s hands, then over his head. She ruffled his hair as he tried and failed to tug the shirt down to meet the waistband of his pants. “Very good, luv.”

Stress stepped back, admiring her work. Tango slouched under her gaze, crossing his arms over his bare belly and staring at the wall behind her. “Can you stand up straight for me, little one?” Stress asked gently. Instead of answering, Tango silently complied, forcing himself to stand up and put his arms behind his back. With his eyes still trained on the wall, he couldn’t judge her reaction, and he shifted on his feet.

Finally, Stress spoke. “Aww, sweetheart!” she cooed. “You look so adorable in your little sailor suit! Absolutely gorgeous!” She squealed, and Tango grinned tentatively. Stress rushed over, stopping just before she reached him. “Can mummy give you a kiss?”

Tango choked. “I- um-“ he stalled, as an incomprehensible rush of emotion overtook him. His heart twisted. He was so thankful for Stress, for being talked down to like a small child, but he wanted to cry. 

“Are you okay?” Stress asked softly. “You don’t have to say yes.”

“No, uh- I was just surprised,” Tango said, brushing the feelings off. “I’d like a kiss, please. Uh, mommy.” He felt a blush creep over his cheeks even more as he said the word out loud. It was embarrassing, but that took second place to the warm, fuzzy feelings it brough (as well as feelings of a distinctly less wholesome variety).

Stress grinned, reaching up to cup Tango’s face. Her hands were so warm. He had to bend down a little for her to reach him, but she gently kissed his cheek and patted him on the back. 

“Thank you,” Tango muttered. He reached out to hug her, but Stress was already rooting through her bag again. And now, in addition to the odd mix of emotions he was feeling, Tango’s too-small sailor shorts were even tighter than before. Wonderful. Just what he needed.

Stress patted Tango’s cheek, snapping him out of his daze. “Alright, luv, are you ready for lunch?” she asked. 

“Oh,” Tango said. “I didn’t bring any food, I can-“

“No no no, silly!” Stress giggled. “Of course you didn’t, you’re just a little boy! I have the ingredients for grilled cheese and tomato soup, does that sound okay?”

“Oh, right,” Tango muttered. Briefly, illogically, he wondered how she’d known that was his favorite food. He’d tried to make it himself, but it never came out quite right. “That- that sounds amazing, thank you, mommy,” he understated. Stress beamed at him, and Tango’s heart leaped. He had no idea why she was so happy with him- he was just agreeing to let her take care of him- but it felt amazing. Who needs drugs, right?

Safely clasping Mr. Whapp’s arms around his neck, Tango loped over to the kitchen area, watching Stress unpack her ingredients. “Can I help… mommy?” he asked, picking up and inspecting a bulb that looked like a large, fibrous onion.

“Not with that,” Stress said, plucking the vegetable out of his hands. “That’s fennel. It’s very difficult to cut, too difficult for a little boy. But…” she handed him a block of cheese. “You could grate this for me, if you promise to be really, really careful.”

“Okay, I will be!” Tango assured her, grabbing the grater. He set to work as Stress chopped the onion and fennel, being slow and careful not to grate his fingers exactly as she instructed. The smell of sautéing vegetables quickly filled the little house, and as the cheese wedge shrank Tango switched from grating to stirring the soup pot. A hot, fuzzy feeling came over him, and from more than just the warmth of the cottage. It was almost like a fever in its mind-numbing power, but instead of feeling sick Tango felt really, really good.

Stress hummed beside him as she put the sandwiches on to cook, the hiss of butter melting adding percussion to her tune. Tango jabbed at the tomatoes with his wooden spoon, giggling as he broke them up. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun cooking, even with someone else. Although, to be fair, this wasn’t really cooking. Stress was doing all the work, but Tango didn’t mind just stirring and spending time with her.

“Let me taste,” Stress said, sneaking a spoon into the pot. Tango’s eyes followed the spoon to her mouth, and her eyes lit up as she swallowed the soup. “It’s almost ready!” she said, sprinkling salt into the pot. “You did a very good job stirring, Tango.”

Tango didn’t even have the sense to complain that he had nothing to do with the soup tasting good. “Thanks, mommy,” he said, scooping up some soup with his wooden spoon and tasting. It was way too hot, but Tango could still tell it was much better than the canned stuff. “Oh, damn,” he muttered, sneaking another spoonful.

Tango put the spoon back in the pot and turned to Stress. “Can we-“ he froze as he met her eyes, narrowed, one eyebrow cocked and her arms crossed as she stared up at him, somehow taller than him despite the few inches of height he had on her. “Um-“ his muscles tensed, and he took a step back without even noticing. “Stress, what-“ What did I do, he wanted to say.

Stress’s expression quickly softened into one of concern. “Wait, Tango,” she said. “Tango, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tango said hastily. He grabbed Mr. Whapps, holding him slightly in front of him as if he might protect him from Stress’s disappointment. “I- why are you mad? Was I not supposed to taste the soup?” He gasped for air. Was she going to leave him now?

“No, no no no!” Stress said, holding her hands out placatingly. “Tango, I’m not mad, I just- you said you wanted to be little, and you swore. I thought I was supposed to get mad at you.”

“Oh,” Tango sighed, all the air from his panicky hyperventilation gushing out of his lungs. “I- I’m sorry. That makes sense.”

“Oh, baby,” Stress said, pulling him into a hug. “You don’t have to be sorry. I should have asked you about this before we started. I won’t scare you like that anymore, okay?”

“Okay.” Tango clung to Stress, burying his face in her hair even though she was the one he had been scared of moments before. Her body heat and surprisingly strong hug helped ground him. His heartbeat slowed to a more reasonable rate.

“It’s okay,” Stress cooed. ‘I’m not mad, baby, I’m so sorry I scared you.” Tango leaned into her touch, until suddenly she stopped stroking his back. “Shit,” she muttered, tearing herself away from him to yank the burning grilled cheese sandwiches off the stove. 

“Language,” Tango teased. 

Stress shot Tango an annoyed look, but this time it was much more obviously joking. “Well, they’re a little burnt,” she said. “Is that alright, baby?” 

“Mhm,” Tango said. “I like my toast a little burned anyway. It’s extra crispy.” This wasn’t entirely true, but Tango didn’t want to risk Stress having to leave to get more ingredients. 

“Okay. Go sit at the table, baby.” Tango obeyed, squishing Mr. Whapps to his chest as he watched Stress ladle out soup and cut up the sandwiches- one of them into triangular quarters, and one into little bite sized bits. She set the plate with the little bits on it in front of Tango, taking the quarters for herself. “Do you think Mr. Whapps wants his own chair, Tango?” Stress asked gently.

“Wha-“ Tango started, before realizing she was asking him indirectly to keep him out of the way of any mess. “Oh, yeah. He does.” Reluctantly, Tango unclasped Mr. Whapp’s hands and set him on an empty chair. He petted his soft fur one more time before turning back to his meal. He picked up the spoon but stopped as Stress placed a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Tango, I don’t want you to make a mess of your nice sailor suit,” she said. “I could feed you to make sure you don’t spill any, if you like.”

“Yes, please,” Tango said. It made sense, of course Stress would be better at not making a mess than he was. Stress smiled at him gently and took the spoon, her smooth but calloused hand brushing his fingers. 

“Open up,” she instructed, scooping up a big spoonful of soup and blowing on it. Tango let his mouth fall open without even realizing, and Stress slipped the spoon into his mouth. It was good- rich and creamy with a faint, almost christmassy taste in the background. Tango hummed happily as he swallowed. 

“Thank you, mommy,” Tango said, and Stress grinned at him. She picked up a bite of his sandwich, holding it to Tango’s lips. He gingerly picked it out of her hand, not entirely missing brushing her fingers with his lips. The motion sent a little shiver through his nether regions, and he blushed and ducked his head bashfully. Stress nonchalantly dipped her own sandwich in her soup, but Tango could have sworn she winked at him. 

Still chewing, Stress picked up another little square of grilled cheese and dipped it in Tango’s soup. He opened his mouth without being prompted, and Stress fed him the piece. He hummed as he chewed, unable to stop himself from smiling. “Aww, you like that,” Stress teased. 

“Mhm,” Tango hummed, nodding his head wildly. Stress chuckled, feeding him another bite. 

Tango normally ate as quickly as possible, eager to get back to whatever project he was working on. Now, though, he hardly noticed an hour go by as Stress fed him bites of grilled cheese and spoonfuls of soup. By the time he was done, the soup was cold, but Tango didn’t mind. And he didn’t get a single drop on his sailor suit!

Stress stood up, popping the last crust of her sandwich into her mouth and crunching. “Can you clear your plate for me, baby? It’s time to clean up.” Tango nodded, stacking Stress’s dishes on top of his own and carrying them to the sink. He ran the water hot and poured out soap with practiced motions, rinsing his dishes once the water was almost hot enough to hurt, but not quite. 

“What are you doing?” Stress asked.

Tango raised an eyebrow. “Washing dishes,” he said. Was it a trick question?

“Baby, I’m taking care of you. You don’t have to wash up,” Stress chuckled. “I mean, unless you want to.”

“Oh,” Tango said. “I didn’t know washing up was part of taking care.” For some reason, he noticed how deep his voice was when he said that. 

“I mean, typically six year olds don’t help their parents wash dishes.”

“Help?” Tango asked, then immediately regretted it when Stress’s face contorted with confusion. “I mean, yeah, sure. You can wash up if you really want to.” 

Tango awkwardly shuffled away as Stress moved to the sink, turning on the cold water. He hovered over her shoulder. He couldn’t just let her do all the work, could he? Even if she was taking care of him that was kind of a dick move. Language, he reprimanded himself. 

Stress nudged him with her hip. “Tango, I love you, but I need a little more space. Can you move away a little?”

“Yeah,” Tango said. He stepped back, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He knew Stress had told him not to help, but it felt so wrong to just stand there not doing anything. His hands twitched towards Stress, telling him to go help, to not be a burden on her, but she had told him to stay back. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I don’t need help,” Stress said gently. She glanced at Tango’s worried face. “Why don’t you draw me a picture while I wash up? I’d love to see it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tango said. He couldn’t just stand around doing nothing, but he could draw a picture for Stress. He managed to tear himself away from the kitchen, grabbing Mr. Whapps and his art supplies. He laid down on the rug and opened his sketchbook.

But what to draw… Tango wanted to make Stress happy. He selected a magenta crayon and scribbled on his paper pad, waiting for inspiration to hit. It was a nice color, though- he could see why she made everything pink. The paper quickly grew smooth with wax, and Tango ran the crayon over the same surface, getting lost in the slippery feeling of the paper. 

Eventually, though, Tango remembered that Stress had asked him to draw her a picture- not a magenta blob. Without changing his crayon, he doodled the familiar face of a ravager. He grinned as he thought of his own- the former beasts of Decked Out now lived in a little cave under his base, where they couldn’t get hurt by overzealous players. Or hurt him, he guessed. 

Ravagers were Tango’s favorite things to draw. He hummed as he picked a purple crayon to shade- might as well stick to the color scheme he had chosen. Tango didn’t even notice Stress walking up beside him, squatting, and watching him draw until she spoke up.

“That’s very nice,” she praised. Tango jumped a little, instinctively covering the drawing with his body.

“Thanks,” he murmured, worrying Mr. Whapp’s paw between his fingers. “It’s a pink ravager.”

“I saw.” Stress’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Can I take a closer look?”

Reluctantly, Tango pulled back and held the picture out to her. Stress took it, nodding sagely as she scrutinized his art. “I like it. The ravager looks very friendly.”

“I know, right?” Tango said. “They’re just big babies. I don’t get why everyone wants to kill them. Or run away.” 

“Oh, definitely not!” Stress giggled. “I like the pink.”

“Thanks!” Tango said brightly. “I picked it for you.” 

Stress ruffled his hair. “That’s very sweet, baby! Can I keep it?”

Tango grimaced. “Do you have to?”

“Oh, of course not,” Stress said. “You can keep it, I just wanted to ask.”

“Oh, right.” Tango didn’t want to tell her he wasn’t planning to keep it. Somehow, he knew it would upset her to hear that he usually ripped up his drawings before anyone could find them and make fun of him. “No, I want you to have it.” He pressed the drawing into her hand. “You won’t tell anyone it’s mine, though, right?”

“Of course not,” Stress said gently. “I’ll keep it safe and sound.” She patted Tango on his head, then stood up. “Are you ready for a story?”

“Sure,” Tango said. Stress held out his hand to him, and she pulled him up. Stress pointed silently to the sofa, and Tango obediently sat while Stress retrieved an absolutely monstrous storybook from her bag. Tango raised his eyebrows. “Good lord, you could kill a cat with that thing!”

“Tango!” Stress scolded, smiling so he knew she wasn’t angry. “Don’t say things like that!“ She plonked down next to him, shaking the sofa a little with her energetic movement. She patted her thigh, and Tango cocked his head. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked. 

Stress giggled. “Don’t you want to sit on mummy’s lap while she reads you your story?”

“Aren’t I a bit heavy for that?” Tango chuckled.

Stress shrugged. “I don’t think so. You’re quite small, and momma’s got a lot of lap for you to sit on.” She patted her thighs again, and Tango blushed a little.

“Alright, but tell me if I get too heavy.” Tango gingerly sat on one of Stress’s thighs. Despite her size, it was still a precarious perch. He leaned, half against her squishy, warm body and half against the back of the sofa. 

“See? You’re fine, baby,” Stress cooed, wrapping one arm around him and opening her storybook. “Which one do you want to hear first?”

Tango scanned the table of contents. He hadn’t heard of a single one of these fairytales before. “Can I hear ‘The Old Lady and the Devil’?” he asked, pointing to the title, next to a colorful drawing of a woman poking a red demon with her cane. 

“Of course you can, baby!” Stress said, flipping to a page with an illustration of the same woman resting under a tree in a bright Middle Eastern square. Tango cuddled closer, hunching so he could rest his head on her shoulder as she read. “Once upon a time was a wise old woman. Everyone knew that she liked to sit under the tree in the square, and many of the people she had given advice to came to greet her there. The old woman rested peacefully, until one day a mysterious man with skin that was almost red came to sit next to her…”

Tango listened intently, paying more attention to Stress’s soft, expressive voice than the actual story. Tango didn’t even particularly like fairytales, but this one was nice- it was about a grumpy old woman making the devil look like a fool, instead of some princess getting herself into trouble and needing to get rescued. He could respect that. 

Tango snapped out of his daze as Mommy asked “Did you like the story, baby?”

“Yeah,” Tango said. “The old lady reminds me of TFC.” 

Mommy laughed. “She does?”

“Yeah. I think TFC could trick the devil, if he wanted. He could certainly trick us.”

“That he could,” Mommy said sagely. “Do you want another story?”

“Yes, mommy,” Tango said. 

She grinned, leaning over to kiss his cheek again. “Which story?” she asked.

“You kissed me,” Tango teased. A grin spread across his face, and he brought his hand up to his cheek. He didn’t even care that he looked like a big dork. He wanted Mommy to know he liked how nice she was. 

“I sure did,” Mommy said. “Did you not like it?”

Tango answered by kissing her cheek. “Can I hear ‘The Rebel Princess’?”

“Of course you can,” Mommy said. And she read, her voice washing over Tango like warm water and her body heat sedating him better than poppy seeds. A pleasant buzz filled his body, shutting off his brain and making him shift and squirm in Mommy’s lap. The moment she finished a story, he requested another one, even as the sun dipped behind the tall towers of his base. 

“One more?” Tango asked, as Mommy finished a story about a farmer’s daughter who won a prince’s hand in marriage despite the king’s best efforts.

“I’d love to, baby, but mummy’s voice is a little sore,” Mommy rasped. She set the book aside, stretching. Tango lifted himself off her lap, only to fall back on it, curling up like a cat. Mommy idly stroked his hair. “It’s getting late,” she noted.

“Mhm.” Through the deep fog of his mind, he vaguely realized that “it’s getting late” meant Mommy would leave soon. He dragged himself further into her lap, looking up at her with big, dark eyes. “It’s not bedtime yet, right? You’re gonna stay?”

“Oh, of course, baby,” Mommy said, rubbing his back. “I’m not going yet. You haven’t even had your bath yet! Can you let mummy get up so she can get it ready for you?”

All Tango gathered from that was that Mommy wasn’t leaving, and that was enough. “Yes please,” he murmured. He didn’t feel nervous as she gently moved him off her lap. Mommy grabbed her bag and she trotted over to the tub he must have put there- though that morning felt so long ago he might as well have not built it. The cottage echoed with the soft roar of flowing water as Mommy filled the bathtub, the various bottles and potions she pulled from her bag and poured in perfuming the air. 

“Come on over, baby,” Mommy called gently. “The bath’s ready.” Tango perked up, sitting up. His back ached from spending so long smushed against Mommy’s body, but he quickly worked out the stiffness and trotted over to her as quickly as he could. Didn’t want to make Mommy wait. She patted his shoulder as he approached the tub. The surface of the water was cloaked in fluffy white bubbles, and Tango stuck his hand into the cool foam until his hand met warm water.

“Uh uh uh,” Mommy chastised. “You need to take off your clothes before you take a bath, baby!” Tango guiltily pulled his hand out of the water, and Mommy chuckled, affectionately rubbing his hair. “There you go, baby. Let me undress you?”

“Mhm,” Tango said. He obediently held his arms out so Mommy could pull his shirt off over his head. She gently folded it, just as she had his big boy clothes, and set it on the floor.

“And now your trousers,” she muttered, almost to herself. Mommy’s hands stilled just above the waistband of Tango’s pants, and he stood on his tippy-toes to put the button in her hand. Mommy snorted a little, grinning as she opened the little button and pulled his trousers down. “Step, please,” she muttered, and Tango obeyed. 

Finally, he stood in just his new underwear. The air was pleasantly warm, but Tango still shivered. It had been easier to ignore while he was clothed, but now it was obvious how big his down there had gotten. It poked out of the underpants, making the front all sticky. Tango hunched over.

“I made a mess,” he said.

“It’s okay, I’m not angry,” Mommy said. “We can clean it up later. Okay?” She lifted Tango’s face up by the chin, looking into his guilty eyes. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Tango said. “But I- it’s embarrassing. I didn’t want to make a mess.”

“It’s okay to make a mess sometimes,” Mommy shrugged. “Now, do you want to get cleaned up before the bubbles go away?”

“I- yes, mommy,” Tango said. Before he could feel more embarrassed, he pulled off his sticky underpants and slipped into the bathtub. The water was warm, not too hot, and the bubbles came up to Tango’s chin. He sighed as his muscles relaxed. “It’s perfect, mommy.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mommy said. “I’m going to get your hair wet so I can wash it, alright?”

“Alright.” Mommy placed a hand on Tango’s forehead, the other scooping water up and gently pouring it over his head. Tango hummed, a shiver running through his body. It was harder to ignore the weird feeling between his legs without any clothes on, but he made himself focus on Mommy’s gentle hands on his scalp, even if it only made the tingly feelings get worse. 

“I’m going to shampoo your hair now, baby,” Mommy cooed, and Tango nodded. The cold liquid poured over his head, and then Mommy’s hands were back on his skin, lathering it in. Tango couldn’t stop himself from moaning and pressing his head into her touch. 

“Ah, sorry,” he groaned, shifting awkwardly. He knew he should pull away, but it felt far too good when Mommy touched him so gently.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Mommy said. Tango sunk under the bubbles a little, the warm water heating his red cheeks even further, but Mommy kept calmly washing him. She didn’t seem to notice his shifting as the feeling between his legs got stronger. She didn’t seem to notice him sneak a hand between his legs under the foam, slowly stroking his down there. It alleviated the feeling a little bit, replacing it with a much more pleasant one- something like tickling crossed with electricity.

“It’s time to rinse,” Mommy said. Tango barely heard her, groaning as he kept rubbing himself. Mommy’s hands carded through his hair, running her fingers through it long after the soap was fully rinsed out. “There you go. You’ve been such a good baby boy for me, Tango,” Mommy whispered. Tango shivered as the good feeling in his down there got stronger. “My, you’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Mommy teased.

Tango’s hand froze. “No?” He said guiltily. 

Mommy chuckled. “Tango, baby, the bubbles all popped ages ago.” Tango’s eyes widened, and Mommy patted his head. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re not in trouble. But you don’t have to do that yourself, you know? I’m taking care of you today.”

Tango didn’t have the wits about him to be embarrassed. “Yes, mommy. Thank you, mommy.” 

The water had cooled by then, but Tango could have sworn his blushing face heated it back up again as Mommy dipped her hand under the water. She stroked his thigh, shushing him as he whimpered. “There you go. Mummy’s going to make you feel really good, alright?”

“Alright,” Tango said, and Mommy’s hand moved from his leg to his down there. Tango sighed with relief as the good feeling came back, pushing his hips into her hand. 

Mommy tutted, pushing him down. “I said I would take care of you, baby, didn’t I?” she said gently. “Just stay still, okay?” 

“Nnh- yes, mommy- I’ll try,” Tango whimpered. He tried to push his hips back into the tub, but he kept bucking up into Mommy’s hand. “Ah, sorry!”

“Good boy,” Mommy cooed. “You’re doing so well!” The electric feeling in Tango’s down there got stronger, and his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Yes, mommy!” Tango whined. His down there twitched, and Mommy’s hand got tighter. Something else got tighter too, somewhere below where Mommy was touching him. “Nng, it feels good,” he said, unable to articulate what was happening.

“That’s good. You deserve to feel good,” Mommy said. Tango panted, his already hazy mind going even hazier as the tight feeling got even stronger. “When it gets really good, can you tell me?”

“Yes, mommy,” Tango said. Mommy kissed his forehead as she twisted her wrist, and the tight feeling suddenly released. Tango moaned, intense electricity and relief and  _ good _ flooding his senses. “Mommy!” he shouted. “It’s- ah!”

“Shh, there you go,” Mommy soothed. Her hand kept moving, gently, as the electric feeling slowly calmed down until it turned from pleasurable to almost painful. Tango tried to scoot back, and Mommy immediately removed her hand. She drained the tub, cleaning up Tango’s down there with a washcloth. “You did so well, Tango!”

“Thanks, mommy,” Tango said, even though he didn’t know what he did well. He felt a little weak, but Mommy held up a fluffy white towel and Tango found the strength to clamber out of the tub and into its soft embrace. Mommy wrapped the towel around him and hugged him, rubbing his back to dry him. Tango’s hair dripped on her shoulder.

“You’re getting all wet,” Tango giggled, trying to pull away. Mommy hugged him even tighter.

“I don’t mind,” Mommy reassured him. “I’d rather get a bit of water on my shirt than not hug you.” For some reason, that made Tango’s ribcage feel too small. He buried his face in her neck without shame, tears welling up even though he felt calmer than he had in… years.

“Oh, baby,” Mommy muttered. She patted his back, rubbing in circles as a few fat, cold tears dripped off of Tango’s face.

“‘M not upset,” Tango croaked. “I’m not sad.”

“I know.”

“Thank you,” Tango added.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Once Tango’s breathing calmed, Stress gently pushed him away and wiped his tears with the corner of the towel. “How are you doing, luv?” she asked gently.

“Good,” Tango said, wrapping the towel around himself tighter. “Less embarrassed than I thought I would be.”

“That’s good,” Stress said gently. “Do you need me to stay longer?”

Ordinarily, Tango would have shoed her off before she could realize how needy he was. But they were well past that, so he said, “stay a little longer?”

“Of course.” Tango stood, drying himself off as Stress packed away the wide variety of supplies she had brought. Out of the corner of his eye, Tango saw her carefully fold his drawing and tuck it into her pocket. 

“By the way- and it’s okay if you say no- do you want to keep this?” Stress said, holding up the little sailor suit. Damn, it really was tiny.

“I mean- if you don’t mind?” Tango said, pulling on his boxers and old shirt for pajamas. “Didn’t you make it?” It was the only explanation that made sense.

“Yeah, for you,” Stress said. “Or, I adjusted the measurements to fit you. I thought you might want to keep it. For later. If you decide you want to do this more.”

“Oh, no, I definitely want to keep it. It’s very nice.” He rushed up to her, taking the fabric out of her hands. He rubbed the collar of the top between his fingers. “Um, would you mind staying until I fall asleep? You can leave then.”

“It’s too late for that, I’ll just put down my own bed,” Stress shrugged. And that she did, right next to his own. “Want me to tuck you in?”

“Yeah,” Tango said, too tired to- no, not even THINKING of protesting. He flopped down on the bed, and Stress folded the blankets on top of him. “Thank you, by the way.”

“None needed,” Stress said gently. She set down her bed next to his and laid down. “We’re gonna beat Bdubs at this rate.”

Tango chuckled. “Goodnight, Stress.

“Goodnight, Luv.”


End file.
